Sloth and Gluttony

After working hard following playing hard with nostri amici, Martello really needed to spend the weekend after their departure resting. With Purim quickly approaching and our guests in need of some of her homemade sweets, earlier in the week Trofie Wife prepared some Purim moscardini (from the trusty Italian Jewish cookbook; here’s a link http://www.amazon.com/Classic-Italian-Jewish-Cooking-Traditional/dp/0060758023/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1237489596&sr=1-1), which, being chewy and chocolately—not to mention, a cinch to make (what’s not to love?) were a hit with all involved parties.

According to the oversized dictionary, a moscardino (the i makes it plural) is a dandy, which I guess is another name for a cookie. However, moscardini are also small octopuses—clearly not an ingredient in a pareve Purim dessert! (And no, the dandy does not have eight appendages.)

Martello was surprised to arrive home in the wee hours of Saturday morning to Trofie Wife having freshly made—from scratch, dough and all—calzones. Consequently, Trofie Wife was just as impressed at having prepared them! The so-called Jewish-style calzones marry anchovies with cheese, but I also prepared a non-anchovy version for Martello, who has not yet been won over by the pungent wee fish.

We finally made it out of the house Saturday night for a late dinner. Trofie Wife was surprised to have her order of some sort of fried fish and vegetables arrive literally on fire. Nothing on the menu indicated that this sort of thing was going to happen, and many of you are well acquainted with my aversion to said natural element (though, I’m getting a bit better with it as required by our kitchen equipment here). The flame finally dissipated, but not before I had managed to knock over an entire glass of water (landing on the table, floor, and possibly Martello) due to the shock (the waitress was likely amused, but we didn’t understand her joking comments).

Although we had planned to spend all of Sunday in Genoa, the exhaustion got the better of us and for the third or fourth time running, we missed the opportunity to take the old-timey train through the mountains on the city outskirts (outskirts in a different direction than those in which we live). Instead, we finally managed to walk over to the heavily-guarded synagogue. Martello found it quite disappointing architecturally as it was reconstructed—possibly totally rebuilt—in 2002 (we were hoping for something closer in design to the charming old ones still standing in the Venice ghetto). Now that we know where it is, we can work on the next steps of making it to some sort of service or event there (provided that they consider moving Saturday morning services to about 4 p.m….). 

We continued our exploration of a new part of the city, climbing into neighborhoods atop hills (with some pretty nice real estate) and at least finding our way to the old-timey train depot (which doesn’t really have any old-timey trains, just the same old graffitied Trenitalia cars). We capped off the evening by riding the short, short subway from one end to the other (the end on yet another city outskirt is supposedly “architecturally notable” but Trofie Wife didn’t notice much about it…).  

From our investigation, there appeared to be condos in this castle. Yes, condos! 

I should also mention that Sunday, March 8 was La Festa delle Donne, or International Women’s Day. In a move that Trofie Wife finds pretty progressive for Italy (not to mention the United States, force-fed the fake “Mother’s Day” (and “Father’s Day”) holiday by the card industry’s $2.49 (more for the oversized ones) forces; birthdays are when everyone should be celebrated for their individual merits), rather than have an appointed “Mother’s Day,” mothers are lumped with all women and are celebrated together on this day (we realized something was up when we saw a lot of prix fixe menus up all over; usually you don’t go out for brunch in honor of women’s rights (in the States, IWD is pretty much acknowledged only in feminist circles), though that sounds like a great idea!), while La Festa del Papà (Father’s Day) is on March 19, coinciding with La Festa di San Giuseppe (St. Joseph’s Day, you know, earthly daddy to Jesus; apparently the Italian holiday designators didn’t see fit to denote it as an inclusive Men’s Day for all men, but that’s usually every day around the world, so no bother). For La Festa delle Donne, vendors hawk mimosas and you see women toting them around all day. Apparently fathers receive red roses on their day, but I don’t recall leaving the house that day, so I couldn’t observe. (For anyone concerned about Trofie Wife’s disdain for these parental celebrations and psychological effects on said parents, note that I am in possession of three sisters who can carry out these duties in a more conformist manner, should they choose (and they do).)

All in all, it was a lovely, relaxed weekend.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Auguri (aka Merry/Best Wishes for the Holiday)

Last night, Trofie Wife officially became a dues-paying member of the expat club while attending their Christmas gathering. She got incredibly lost trying to find the venue, and nearly turned around after spotting both the funeral home and hospital on the creepy street seemingly leading to nowhere, but luckily spotted the hotel before turning back. (One bonus to getting lost: locating the Genoa Grom gelato shop, conveniently near the Brignole train station! I resisted temptation…)

Trofie Wife met additional expats and Italian wives of expats and continued to be charmed by their welcoming demeanor. I have to say that Martello and I come across as rather boring, two Americans married to each other as opposed to the exotic combinations that they’ve all managed. Many of the husbands were in attendance (Martello was still in the office), and it’s funny to pair up these dashing, older Italian men with the statuesque and chipper American women (many from the Heartland) that they met decades ago; some just seem oddly mismatched, the men far more glamorous than the women in a few cases. Despite our lack of intrigue (well, the Judaism that some have uncovered or deduced intrigues some), people do, however, enjoy talking about New York (especially the Italians, who all seem to adore it). Trofie Wife had her debutante moment when she received, in front of the assembled crowd, a white rose for becoming a new member. The one advantage to this bizarre ritual is that I was introduced, along with another young woman, as the two new members bringing down the group’s average age. Turns out that the fellow giovane (young woman) is a Texan who came here as an au pair and fell in love.…Although she resides in Mom World and is quite occupied with her toddler, we had a great, loud conversation (it’s that great New York–Texas chemistry, right LCH?), and Trofie Wife looks forward to paling around at future events. Interestingly, Trofie Wife seems to have the most in common with the Brit (who could probably be my mother) whose kids are all grown and off in the UK, leaving her to figure out her meaning here (I’m not sure if she left behind a job, but I suspect so).

Fellow Arenzanoans offered me a lift home, which was welcome instead of having to find my way back to the train. An Italian husband drove three Americans and a saucy Aussie, and the conversation turned morose (due to my mention of getting lost near the funeral home, which it turns out is not a funeral home in the American sense; apparently they don’t have them here; bodies wait for burial either at home or in the hospital) to funeral rituals in Italy, while driving on a slippery road…

I’m glad that I joined the group, but I also don’t foresee spending oodles of time with these women outside of official events. While age is just a number, I have to admit that they, for the most part, just simply are not my peers (especially when they talk about their kids who are either my contemporaries or slightly older!). Nevertheless, a little non-electronic chatting every so often is probably good for Trofie Wife. However, she is looking much more forward to the local party (several blocks away) at Martello’s co-worker’s house this weekend where attendees will be either our age or slightly younger/older.  I will try my best not to fall asleep.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

 

A Return to Normalcy (Well, At Least to As Normal As We Get Around Here…) Plus Some Other Odds and Ends

Trofie Wife is thrilled to report that the first of her promised telecommute gigs has panned out. She started work this week and is quite happy to be “back in the game,” as they (whoever says “back in the game”) say. Never fear—this turn of events should not halt blog production at all. In fact, it may just increase it, given Trofie Wife’s propensity to build increasing returns on her productivity (i.e., the busier I am, the more I can get done).

And now to turn to the energy front: According to news reports, demand for power fell across Italy in November due to relatively warm temperatures (see http://www.reuters.com/article/rbssIndustryMaterialsUtilitiesNews/idUSL552082420081205). We’re not quite sure where these reporters were stationed, but the power demand in Trofie Wife and Martello’s apartment certainly did not drop. In fact, we shivered though many a November night while “demand” was falling.

Finally, in world power headlines: The annual G-8 summit is making a triumphant return to Italy in July (perhaps in honor of Martello’s birthday?). If you read Trofie Wife’s earlier post on the outcome of the Diaz trial (related to police brutality during the 2001 G-8 meeting in Genoa), you’ll realize that there might be some local trepidation afoot in regards to such violent incidents repeating themselves. Well, never fear, because the Italian planners have identified a perfect venue, La Maddelena, an exquisite, pristine island nestled between Sardinia and Corsica (Napoleon, anyone?). Eager protesters be forewarned: it is only accessible by boat, and I suspect that the Italian equivalent of the Coast Guard will be out in full force (at least you can't brutalize people if you keep them at bay...).

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Political Education

From a technological perspective, Tuesday, November 13^th was fairly traumatic. I awoke to find that the promised 100 hours of Internet service was already caput. As in, Trofie Wife had used it up. Already. (Martello asks why I feel the need to open, on a daily basis, nearly every e-mail I receive even if it’s junk. I explain that it’s information, and I want it. It doesn’t matter that I can’t attend any of the 92^nd Street Y Tribeca’s classes or use any of the Broadway Box discounts; I need to keep tabs on what’s going on back home!!) Luckily, I had already self-scheduled a trip to Voltri to acquire buste (envelopes) from the office supply shop. So, I rerouted myself so that I first stopped in to see the valiant Voltri Vodafone knights who put me back in business. (Note: As later posts will explain, the recharge didn’t last too long. I tried switching on and off while composing e-mails and reading articles so as to conserve as much juice as possible, but apparently Vodafone was already onto that trick and imposed a 15-minute usage charge on each connection, thus the Internet saga of this past week.)

 But moving past the Internet for a nanosecond, let me wax on how much I love office supply stores! This is the first autumn in several years that I haven’t had the pleasure of buying new notebooks and Post-Its, due to the absence of formal academic endeavors. The wedding allowed for some quality time with paper products, but it just isn’t fall without school supplies! I managed to conduct the transaction in almost 100 percent Italian. (“Buste?” (Store clerk shows me the envelopes. I think I should have first said, “prego” or finished with “per favore.”). “Grande? Per paccetto?” (I think I was supposed to have said “pacchi.” He shows me the largest ones.) “Si.”  (He rings me up and gives me the total, which he repeats in English after I appear confused.) “Grazie. Arrivederci”). Ok, maybe not 100 percent, but getting there (maybe).   

A visit to Voltri isn’t complete without a stop in the mega grocery store. They happen to have especially good deals on wine. Heard of Two Buck Chuck courtesy of Trader Joe’s? Well here, we’re trying to find the best One Euro Nero (another foiled Google search yet again proves that Trofie Wife must have invented this term!). 

But now I should finally get to the title of this post (apologies for all the diversions). I guess even without the scholastic notebooks (though I do carry a little journal so that I can make pithy notes for the blog while I wait and wait for trains), I am receiving an education here—particularly a political one. I’ve taken to watching a lot of Italian political shows and listening to Parliament on the cell phone radio (I’m very glad that Voltri Guy #1 convinced me to spend the extra 10 euros for the radio. At first I though I was being ripped off, but it has proven quite useful; I’m listening as I type). There is a political humor show (I don’t yet know the name) in the style of my beloved Daily Show and Colbert Report (I’m not sure which side of the Atlantic pioneered embarrassing members of the legislature, but they’re both doing an excellent job). My favorite program by far is Exit: Uscita di Sicurezza (my meager attempt at translation: Exit from Certainty) hosted by Ilaria D’Amico, who I think is a dead ringer for Catherine Zeta-Jones, but without the creepy Michael Douglas baggage. Each episode probes a particular civic issue (the financing of political parties, obscene train delays) by combining short, documentary-style reportage with debate (or sustained yelling) amongst government ministers, journalists, and other interested parties. What’s most fascinating is watching the politicians’ (often uncomfortable) reactions to the filmed pieces (they have to watch them while seated on set). The producers also roll associated statistics throughout the discussion, and even the most obnoxious of ministers bring their notes with them so that actual facts and figures—and not just platitudes— can be expressed. CNN, are you listening???

Trofie Wife sits with a dictionary to look up the words that are continually repeated and thus probably important. I am amazed by how much I can understand, but also at how such government-sanctioned nonsense can go on in a country, be thrown wide-open on TV, yet continue. Yet, I guess we have our fair share of exposé reporting in the States these days that leads to little social change. Nevertheless, the show is great (with an awesome soundtrack to boot), and I look forward to it weekly. (After watching the program with me a few days ago and listening to me extol D’Amico’s sharp questioning of the guests and issues (in great contrast to so-called “news” hosts in the States), Martello notes, “it doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous.”) Here’s a link so you can check it out yourselves: http://www.la7.it/blog/default.asp?idblog=ILARIA_DAMICO_-_Exit_15

I also tune-in regularly to the Ligurian-focused news channel (think NY1). Last Thursday night, I watched the outcome of the sentencing in the Diaz police brutality case, which goes all the way back to the 2001 protests at the Genoa G-8 meeting. I learned a new word watching the commentary— vergogna, which means “shame.” Essentially, police officers were acquitted or given very small sentences (which will be commuted) for planting “evidence” of planned terrorist acts to justify a brutal raid on the sleeping quarters of multinational anarchist protesters.  Whatever one believes about globalization and its (dis)/(mal)contents, the outcome in this case and the fallout in Genoa will likely be fascinating to follow. Here’s a link to the full article on the verdict: http://www.ansa.it/site/notizie/awnplus/english/news/2008-11-14_114290362.html

In closing, there is one major gap in my political education that I doubt will be surmounted by year’s end—my knowledge of the assorted political parties. It’s an alphabet soup! In this regard, a two-party system has its advantages! Maybe there's a song they teach school children so that they can learn them all. Trofie Wife will have to look into that...

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

My Savona

First off, apologies for the delay in adding new commentary to the site, which is attributable to travel, a reversion to Eastern Standard Time (more on that later), and a really good book (to those who haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris). Anyway, much has occurred since Trofie Wife’s last writing, so it makes sense to begin with the promised accounting of our sojourn to Savona.

On Saturday, November 1 (All Saints’ Day) we headed to Savona, another port city, for our first jaunt in the opposite direction of Genoa. Martello’s guidebook on the Italian Riviera, eyeballed on the ride (prior to his inevitable passing out), taught us that Genoa and Savona have been rivals since ancient times, due to Savona siding with Carthage and Genoa with Rome during their epic battle. (Of course that rivalry continues to cease from 12:30 to 3:30 p.m. daily when everyone breaks for lunch.)

Arriving around lunchtime, we decided to join the locals in dining. Unfortunately, some misguided ordering senza dictionary led us to select a lunch that had to be discarded (Martello did his best to break up the offending meat with a knife and swirl it around the plate so as not to overly offend the chef). Afterwards, Martello found our way to the site of Savona’s great fortress (where incidentally, the public bathrooms had apparently not been cleaned since the fall of Carthage). The fort boasts amazing views out to the sea and surrounding city and, as Martello discovered (and surreptitiously documented), is a good rendezvous spot for amorous teenagers.

We decided that it would be a good place to lord over, although most of the lording these days seems to be less fulfilling than it might have been in the days of balls and cannons (for example, there appeared to be a fleet of rental cars below one of the vistas; not very imposing nor impressive). Unfolding below the fortress we spotted a carnival—perhaps in honor of the holiday. We descended in order to investigate, but unfortunately there was no cotton candy to be found (isn’t a carnival’s raison d’etre the vending of cotton candy??). So we headed to the center of town to window shop and procure some long overdue lunch for Martello—pizza, which an already portly local dog tried to eat!

Incidentally, having decided long before we set foot in Savona that “My Savona” would be an excellent title for this post, it came as quite a shock when Trofie Wife stepped into a house wares store on the main drag (in order to purchase some discount dishcloths) only to find “My Sharona” (I kid you not!) playing as the transaction unfolded! (Martello missed the whole amazing coincidence while finishing his pizza on the bench outside, but in the spirit of upholding their marriage vows, fully believed Trofie Wife without demanding independent corroboration). We continued to explore Savona’s centro and were surprised by how the crowds continued to bustle in and out of shops into the early evening hours while musicians and bouncy stilt walkers (resembling rollerblades on springs) took to the square to entertain. We grabbed some gelato around 6:30 p.m. (perhaps edging towards dinner time in many communities) and sat in the main piazza joining dozens of Italian families who were all, from very young to very old, eating frosty treats; you have to respect a culture that makes ice cream such an integral part of the day! Savona explored, we decided to head home for dinner and had an excellent, fresh meal in Arenzano’s centro. We promise visitors that we will be sure to take them to this fantastic restaurant!

Sunday was not as eventful as Saturday; actually, it felt more like a Saturday in Philadelphia, when Martello and Trofie Wife would both be pounding away on their computers in pursuit of Mastery. After striking out at not one but two grocery stores (both closed by 1 p.m. on Sunday), we considered attending a local soccer game, but since it was pouring, and Martello owed his former Penn colleagues some feedback, we decided to stay in and have a boring but productive day (of course none of this production was directed at the blog…).

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife